The Pantomime Horse
by skag trendy
Summary: A little one shot of gratuitous silliness and humour with our favourite boys. John, Dean and Sam finish up a hunt in a theatre, but before the show can end our intrepid lads Dean 19, Sam 15 spy something backstage and can’t resist an opportunity.


**The Pantomime Horse**

**A little one shot of gratuitous silliness and humour with our favourite boys.**

**John, Dean and Sam finish up a hunt in a theatre, but before the show can end our intrepid lads (Dean 19, Sam 15) spy something backstage and can't resist an opportunity…**

**It inevitably lands them in trouble.**

**In honour of my 34****th**** birthday (yeah, checked my modesty and sanity at the door with this one), I thought it was time for a bit of a laugh.**

**Also in honour of Jensen Ackles who I believe turned 30 this year – welcome to the Dirty Thirties! Hope you enjoy these years as much as I have so far!**

**I'd been thinking about this for a while, so here goes…**

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Theatre's main office. Present…**_

John stalked up and down in full drill sergeant mode, occasionally halting to glare at his sons who were lined up in front of him parade style. Shoulders back, spine rigid, Sam was now almost as tall as Dean, and managed to keep his face expressionless, but his older brother….

Dean appeared to be in almost physical pain, and John knew he was pushing him to the brink.

"So. You thought it would be funny huh?"

"No sir!" Sam barked out.

"Nnnuuuuhh…." Dean was struggling.

John stopped his pacing once more and leaned in towards Dean's face. His oldest son was desperately looking everywhere but at his father, whose stern eyes were mere inches from his own. John kept that position, waiting for the inevitable.

Dean was about to crack.

Dean's eyes clenched shut, his lips disappearing as he tried to hold it in.

_Here it comes,_ thought John.

The shoulders started to shake.

_Any second now…_

The shakes turned into full on convulsions as Dean smirked, spluttered, then finally let loose with the loudest guffaw John had ever heard.

_And he's off!_

John watched, face impassive, as his eldest son bent double at the waist and practically yelled with laughter.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Backstage. Thirty minutes earlier…**_

"Boys? You ok?"

"Yes sir!" Two young voices called out softly from behind the stage.

"Right! Meet me back at the car, I gotta go talk to the stage manager." John headed off into the dark gloom, rubbing his neck. The poltergeist had flung him around a fair bit, nearly strangling him until Sam and Dean had managed to get rid of the murderous bastard. They'd had to be quiet however, since the owner of the theatre refused to shut the place down after the opening night had gone so drastically wrong. Three actors and two under-studies had been killed, one by a falling sandbag, two by hanging, and two by virtue of being thrown from the balcony.

Dean and Sam glanced at one another. They could hear the laughter of the audience as the pantomime continued. Dean had been particularly excited about this hunt because he was hoping to catch some of the show. It was one of his favourite childhood stories; Jack and the Beanstalk. Not so much his favourite because of the story itself these days, but down to Dean's steadily developing dirty mind that managed to put a certain _smut_ factor on 

everything he encountered. More often than not he had Sam rolling his eyes at him, but even Sam had trouble not laughing at some of the jokes. Sometimes his older brother was just a big kid.

"So Sam. You wanna watch some of the panto?" Dean asked hopefully. "Dad'll be in the office for a while. We got time."

Sam chewed his bottom lip thoughtfully. He wasn't all that bothered by pantos, and thought them boring and more than a little stupid. But the prospect of rebelling against his father was just too great an opportunity to pass up.

Dean spotted the moment Sam made up his mind, as his blue-green eyes suddenly lit up with mischief.

"Sam?"

"Idea!" Sam indicated Dean should follow him, as he stepped silently through the never ending stretch of curtains. The two boys made their way down through a trap door and found themselves in the dressing room area.

"Whatcha got in mind Sammy?" Dean asked, grinning broadly. He loved it when his little brother decided to turn 'rebellious teenager' on him. It often meant they'd be well and truly in the shit at some point, but at least they got a laugh or two out of it!

Sam reached out and picked up a fake cutlass that had been left carelessly lying about from a previous play.

"On guard Pirate!"

Dean's grin widened as he snatched up a wooden pirate sword. "I'll cut you down like the dog you are!"

"Like ta see ya try that smartass!" Sam countered then thrust forward with the cutlass.

"I'm sure I can oblige."

Dean sidestepped then followed up with a thrust of his own, the wooden sword bouncing harmlessly off Sam's weapon.

"You'll never take me alive, Sam!"

"Who said I ever intended to?" Sam whirled and ducked gracefully but Dean was too fast for him. His brother caught him in a headlock, then smoothly swept Sam's long legs out from under him, just catching him before he hit the floor. Sam struggled upright, then grabbed Dean's shoulder, leaned into him then forced him to overbalance. Dean found himself staring up at his little brother from the floor, Sam watching him with a smug grin and one raised eyebrow.

"Right! That's it!" Sam barely had time to react as Dean reached up, snagged his wrist and yanked him downwards. Shifting slightly, in one swift movement he pinned Sam down and ruthlessly started tickling him.

"Dean! St..stop!" Sam was giggling helplessly. "G..get off me! I'm fifteen for Christ sakes not eight!"

"Sure act like you're eight dude!" Dean rolled away before his brother could retaliate, then stood. "Come on. Let's see what else they got round here."

They had a good ol' nose round some of the unoccupied dressing rooms, but found nothing more of interest, so they made their way carefully back up through the trapdoor.

"Sam wait!"

"What?"

Dean turned to him, eyes shining brightly. "Take a look over there."

Sam followed his gaze, then a slow smile formed. "Now that's _cool!_"

A glance, just _one_ glance at each other was all it took, and the two boys were scrambling over to examine their latest find.

An argument ensued.

"You take the rear."

"No freakin' way man! I know what you had for breakfast; I'm not gettin' my nose anywhere near your…"

"Uh come on Sammy…"

"I said no _way!_"

In the end it was settled by size. Sam took the front because Dean's stockier build meant he wouldn't fit. And, Dean?

He got the rear.

So in all its glory, splendour…and some muffled cursing as Sam accidentally trod on Dean's foot when the legs got tangled…the Winchester Pantomime Horse was born.

"Ok." Sam heard Dean's muffled voice from somewhere down and behind him. "Let's take some practice steps. Ready?"

"Ready."

"…and Left, Right, Left, Right…take it slow Sam….I said take it sl…Sam!"

"What?!"

A pained sigh. "Practice ok? This aint the Grand National. You go gallopin' off and I'll end up ass over tit. Now take it slow…"

"Hey Dean?"

"Yeah!"

"I think I found the mechanism that rolls the eyes and flicks the tail." There was a scuffling noise. "Sure is damn hot in this thing." He'd found the eyeholes in the neck, but the whole horses head was real heavy.

"Sam, let's just concentrate on moving without fallin' on our asses ok?"

"Ok."

"…and Left, Right, Left, Right…Sam slow down..!" Too late, Sam had lost the rhythm and the brothers collapsed in a tangle of limbs, hooves and horse costume.

They lay there panting for a second, deciding that being a horse was hard work, and that as soon as they got this costume off they were heading back to the car, as per John's orders.

"Ok. I've had enough horsin' around." Dean earned himself a groan from his younger brother. "Let's get outta here."

There came the sound of a zip being tugged, but which was abruptly cut off. A small silence reigned before Dean tentatively asked "Sam? Why are we still in the godamned horse?"

"Um…"

Dean sighed. "Wow. You're just all kinds of articulate tonight. Now _get us outta of the damn horse!"_

"Um…can't. Zip's stuck." Sam shifted and Dean could hear him tugging desperately at the zip that joined the front and rear ends of the costume. "It think it's snagged on the fabric…oh shit."

"What?!"

"I think it's broken."

"Just freakin' _great!_" Dean round a finger round his shirt collar. His brother was right; it _was_ hot in the costume and he could feel perspiration building up as the heavy cloth stuck to his back.

"Maybe we should get help. Ya know, before Dad comes lookin' for us?" Sam sounded nervous and he had every right to be. Rebelling against John Winchester's orders without him knowing was one thing, but it was quite another to be deliberately flouting them to his face.

"Ok." Dean nodded to himself. "If we're gonna get help then we need to practice walking, and Sam? You make off like Sea Biscuit one more time? When we get outta here I'm gonna strangle you with the tail!"

"Yeah yeah…"

Dean scowled. He could almost _feel_ that eye roll and decided to ignore it. They had bigger issues right now. "And…Left, Right, Left, Right…"

"Dean? I can't see where we're going."

"Oh for Christ sake…"

"I couldn't help it, the head slipped and now it's stuck in one position. Oh wait! I think I can see out of one eyehole. Trouble is I'm not sure which one."

Dean closed his eyes for a second, trying to control his temper. "That'll have to do Sammy. Now let's go."

And so the pantomime horse continued making its way along the back stage, in a weird lumbering gait as Sam tried but failed to make out where they were going in the dark.

Dean carried on softly calling out the steps, his back now aching, and eventually, with a lot of concentration, the boys were able to get into a rhythm. Probably no horse in the world, costume or otherwise, had ever moved like this and if it had it would've ended up at the knackers' yard, destined for a tin of cat food.

Unfortunately, as Sam couldn't see directly below his feet, he didn't spot the length of rope left by a stage hand.

It was quite spectacular as stunts went, and Sam tripped, taking down several curtains, narrowly missed a falling sandbag…but the grand finale?

The boys found themselves tumbling over and over, knees bumping, elbows knocking, heads colliding with unseen hard objects. They vaguely heard the audience clapping and laughing, but they only chiefly noticed when they stopped. As the boys came to an abrupt halt, lying in yet _another_ tangle of limbs, there came about a hushed silence.

Sam peaked through the eyehole and froze in shock. "Uh…Dean?"

Dean groaned. "What? And take your knee outta my mouth…"

"Ow! That's not my knee Dean, that's my a…"

"Dude! Ugh! I didn't wanna know that ok?" Dean made a loud spluttering noise. "That's just freakin' great. We're locked inside Red Rum here, sweatin' our asses off, and now I've just had a face full of my brother's butt cheek!"

"It's a little bit worse than that Dean."

"How could things possibly be worse?" Dean was shouting by now.

"Uh…'cos, and don't ask me how, but we ended up on stage in front of the audience."

Dean somehow got the feeling their problems were only just getting started.

He sighed again. "Go ahead. What's the real bad news?"

"Me. I'm the _real_ bad news." Came a familiar gruff, and above all _angry_ sounding voice.

The boys suddenly went very quiet as they considered their options.

There weren't many charitable ones.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

John had been talking quietly with the stage manager in the wings when he heard the commotion behind the curtain. Everyone in the theatre, actors and audience alike, gradually fell silent and watched the stage with avid curiosity, as something came tumbling through the main curtain, ultimately pulling it down and nearly braining one of the actors with the rod.

Glancing at the manager, John raised an eyebrow. "That in the script?"

The manager was clearly fuming. "No." He ground out.

When he heard voices coming from the heap on the stage, John moved closer. It looked like a pantomime horse, and it seemed to be having some trouble.

But when he heard the costume call out loud and clear enough for the entire theatre to bear witness:

"_That's just freakin' great. We're locked inside Red Rum here, sweatin' our asses off, and now I've just had a face full of my brother's butt cheek!"_

John decided he had a pretty good idea what was going on, closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.

It didn't help that the audience roared with laughter at that point, thinking it was all part of the show.

John straightened his spine, rolled his shoulders and narrowed his eyes. Then he stepped out onto the stage, and with all the dignity he could muster, set about retrieving his wayward sons.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

"I think it might be wise if you take off the costume and get the hell off stage before you cause any more trouble."

The boys heard their father's voice and knew that despite the calm even tone, he was real pissed.

Dean sniffed and Sam gulped.

"Um Dad?" Dean whispered loudly. "We can't. The zip broke. We can't get out!"

"Uhuh. That so?"

Sam felt a hand grip his arm through the costume and he was yanked to his feet abruptly. Dean, forced to follow, grunted loudly as he nearly pitched headlong into his brother's legs.

"You boys 'bout ready to move out?"

A couple of muted _Yes sir's_ and John prepared to lead them off the stage.

John glanced out over the expectant audience and gave a small bow, oozing charm.

"S'cuse me ladies and gentlemen. I gotta take Trigger here out for his nose bag." He called by way of explanation, earning himself a few laughs. But to his boys he added quietly, almost threateningly "_among other things!"_

"…Left, Right, Left, Right…" Dean whispered.

"Put a sock in it Dean." Sam whispered back mutinously.

"How 'bout a bale of hay?"

"This isn't funny."

"Ah c'mon. It's a little funny." On reflection, Dean thought it was hilarious.

"Boys, I strongly suggest you shut up now or I swear to god I'll leave you in there for the rest of the night!" John whispered.

Ok _that_ wasn't so funny.

_**SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS**_

_**Theatre's main office. Present.**_

John glared at his sons once more, one finger raised to his mouth, deep in thought, as Dean righted himself and aimed for silence.

Both boys awaited their sentence with little enthusiasm.

"Sam? You fix the zip on that costume along with the tear." The only way he'd been able to free his boys from the horse was to slice it open with his hunting knife, earning a glare from the stage manager.

"Yes Sir!"

"Dean? You clear up this mess and mend those curtains."

"…!"

"Dean?"

A rather odd noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort mixed with a snigger erupted from the eldest, before Dean was able to get himself under some semblance of control.

"Yes Sir!"

John nodded. "No TV for a month, you'll both train for an extra hour each morning this week…_which means…_" He added with emphasis as both boys groaned loudly. "Getting up an hour earlier. Anymore complaining and I'll make it two hours. Any questions?"

A chorus of _No Sir's_ answered him, and he jerked his chin in the direction of the door. "Now get to the car. And I mean _straight_ to the car, no detours! You cross me on this again and I'll make it _three!_"

Dean and Sam shuffled out of the room, and not a word was said, though Dean still found himself trying hard to hold his laughter in.

John watched them leave, and as soon as the office door closed a huge grin broke out on his face. He was soon chortling loudly with laughter, which rose to almost Pavarotti levels.

Right now, he couldn't let his boys know just how entertaining they'd been; their punishment for disobeying orders had to mean something after all.

But John hadn't laughed so much in ages. He marvelled at how his sons, without even trying, were able to keep him smiling no matter how dark and dangerous life became.

Sometimes John wondered just where he'd be without Dean and Sam to bring him back into the light.

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_**Author's notes:**_

Many thanks to all the happy birthday messages. You're all very sweet.

Hope you enjoyed this teenchesters one shot. And for those amongst you who are old enough to remember, yes, I did blatantly take this idea from Enid Blyton's Famous Five, though which one it was escapes me, it's been so long since I last read it.

Please let me know what you think, and maybe I'll consider a sequel.

Kind regards,

ST.xxx.


End file.
